Nae thinking o’ the skaith;
And says, “To wrong ye, Hynde Etin,
I wad be unco laith.”
But he has taen her by the yellow locks,
And tied her till a tree,
And said, “For slichting my commands,
An ill death ye sall die!”
He pou’d a tree out o’ the wood,
The biggest that was there;
And he howkit a cave many fathoms deep,